


Something Human

by pricelessmaple



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brainwashing, British Men of Letters (Supernatural) Being Assholes, Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Everything Hurts, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kendricks Academy (Supernatural), M/M, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Past Brainwashing, Past Character Death, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 13:57:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18121871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pricelessmaple/pseuds/pricelessmaple
Summary: Ketch wakes up in the middle of the night, struggling to distinguish fiction from reality. The British Men of Letters have left him damaged in ways he can't begin to comprehend.Mick is different. Mick is real, and nothing like him. He doesn't deserve Mick, and yet, Mick stays anyways.(no, nothing is alright, nothing is real, I think I'm losing my mind, and I'm sorry I ever thought of hurting anyone, I'm sorry--)The only thing keeping him from falling apart is Mick, and even then, he wonders if that's slipping away from him too.





	Something Human

**Author's Note:**

> so I guess it's not actually all that graphic (at least, regarding my standards)  
> but uhhh I've seen fics tagged that for less so yeah  
> I wrote this in about two hours while watching Scream and thinking about Patrick Bateman so yeah have this garbage

Arthur can’t help but feel guilty - not just for what he’d done to Alexander, nor the fact that he felt that perhaps he could have saved him, could have saved all of the other kids who died in front of him at Kendricks, all of the innocents whose lives he took in the name of the British Men of Letters—   
  
Really, for more simple things as well. The one that was really eating away at him lately was the fact that he was constantly waking Mick up at night. Not intentionally, of course. Everything just kept coming back at night - the sight of still bodies whenever he shut his eyes, the smell that sent his stomach churning; it tears him apart, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can take it before he finally breaks down.   
  
He wakes up gasping and shaking, eyes wide in panic. A sharp pain cutting through his head - a constant, for him, a friendly reminder that he was still very much alive - his brain pounding in his skull. The room pitch black, and only vaguely could he make out the shape of Mick’s body in the darkness that was pressing in. His eyes are too sensitive upon waking up, and an overwhelming sense of nausea accompanies the unbearable migraine. His breathing was too shallow and slow, and he tries to focus on the sound of Mick snoring softly, and his deep and even breathing.    
  
Mick is noticeably relaxed. He is completely at ease, and entirely unaware of what is happening to Ketch right now.    
  
He always tries to be careful when this happens. He knows all too well about how little sleep Mick lets himself get and doesn’t want to wake him. (Mick avoids sleep, scared to see Timothy’s body, and Ketch understands that more than he knows how to express. Sometimes he wonders if that’s why they’re so drawn to each other. They’re survivors of the same kind. They understand each other in ways that most can’t.)    
  
He shuts his eyes and rubs his temples, trying to sooth the pain. It helps sometimes. Rarely ever after waking up, however. If he could see, the room would be spinning - even so, the darkness felt as if it was swirling and tilting. His heart was thundering in his chest, faster than it should be. Blood was pounding in his ears, and he just wanted everything to stop.    
  
At some point, he’d kicked the duvet off of him. The small area of it still on the bed was covering Mick’s body, with the majority being on the floor.    
  
He scrambles to his feet, leaving the warmth of the bed to stumble to the bathroom. He automatically turns on the light, which was a mistake he regretted immediately. It’s too bright. It sears into his skull. What had been his dinner lurches back up, and he chokes it back down to prevent it from going all over the sink. He turns the light back off, hoping he didn’t wake Mick, and chastises himself for not thinking. He winces at the clatter he’s making while searching in the dark for the ibuprofen bottle.    
  
He turns the light on again, just to make sure he grabbed the right bottle and shuts it off as quickly as he can. He takes the pills and bites back his tears. He was gripping the counter now, willing himself to stay upright. He wasn’t sure which would happen first - him vomiting all over the counter or him collapsing and staying on the ground. His stomach flips and he can’t tell whether he’s breathing or not anymore. Was he pulling in air? His chest was heaving, and he supposed that was a good sign. He blinks hard, trying his best to stay conscious.    
  
Everything hurt so badly; he wanted Mick to hold him and tell him lies (everything will be alright, we’ll be okay, we’ll make it out of the Men of Letters alive together) because lies didn’t hurt like the truth.    
  
Mick was the most real thing in his life. Every day, it felt as though his sense of reality was slipping from him. He couldn’t discern the difference between his dreams and his memories and his nightmares and his reality anymore.    
  
Not since the British Men of Letters strapped him down and tortured him - ripped him apart just to hear him scream, kept going until he broke, and he begged and pleaded for them to kill him, but they wouldn’t. Instead, they pumped him full of their brainwashing serum until he couldn’t feel or think for himself and sent him back out into the world.    
  
Ketch knows the serum is still affecting him, still screwing over his grip on reality. Fantasies bleed into real life, and he doesn’t know who’s alive and who isn’t anymore. He’ll fantasise about killing someone - (he’d slit Antonia’s throat, she would suffer, but it would be a quicker and quieter death than most, and he doesn’t want to hear her crying out in pain; he’d cut apart Hess slowly, bask in the sound of her screams, relish the sight of her hopelessly fighting back against him, and end her life if blood loss hasn’t taken her first by driving the blade through her heart and enjoy watching as it stops—) and for hours, he’ll think they’ll truly dead. But it always turns out false in the end. Toni still taunts and mocks him, and Hess...   
  
He doesn’t even know where to begin there.    
  
Mick was real. Mick was alive. Mick loves him. Mick—   
  
“Are you alright?”   
  
The hushed, gentle voice comes from the bed, and Ketch mentally reprimands himself for waking Mick. “Yes, love. I’m alright.” The words sound wrong in his mouth, and it sounds too obvious a lie, even to him. But Mick didn’t push him further, just watched him. He made it back over to the bed, and let out a shaky breath as Mick curled up against him.   
  
Mick’s wrapped in his arms and pulled against his chest. Michael Davies is warm and alive and real.    
  
His body feels so heavy. He feels weak. Vulnerable. But Mick is leaving feather-light kisses on his body and rubs his back with hands softer than his own (his were rough, calloused, from years of fighting and gripping weapons, and nothing like Mick’s) and makes him feel something human and alive again.    
  
Ketch hurts, and yet he still manages to let himself feel safe, and he drifts off to sleep again to the feeling of Mick wrapped around his body, running a slow, soothing hand through his hair.   
  
He knows that he murmurs an I love you as he drifts away, and he knows that Mick whispers one back. He knows that Mick loves him, and he knows that he loves Mick, and suddenly things are okay, even if it’s only temporary.


End file.
